


And I'll Give You Anything

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bad dates, Established Relationship, First Dates, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Season/Series 07, Season 8 Doesn't Exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 00:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17818433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Shiro wants to take Keith on the best first date. Keith deserves a perfect date, after all.Unfortunately for Shiro, the date he takes Keith on is anything but perfect.





	And I'll Give You Anything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valkyriepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkyriepilot/gifts).



> Fic request from [Jill](https://twitter.com/EphemeraBlossom), who requested Shiro taking Keith on a date-- and everything going wrong. In an ideal world, I'd have posted this on Valentine's Day, but alas. Thanks for your patience and thanks so much for the prompt! ♥

Shiro’s out of breath when he comes running through the door to Keith’s quarters. “Keith,” he gasps, “I’m so sorry I’m late!” 

And he is. He’s tragically, pathetically late. The one consolation is that Keith doesn’t look upset about it. Instead, he looks up as Shiro enters the room and then smiles at him, that sweet little smile that always makes Shiro feel a little weak-kneed. Keith powers down his datapad, sets it aside, and stands to meet Shiro halfway. 

“It’s okay,” Keith says. “I got your message. What was the hold up?” 

Shiro takes a few deep gulps of air. He’d practically sprinted here. 

“ _Slav,_ ” Shiro mutters, with an unconcealed clench of his jaw. “He wouldn’t shut up about… slight breezes or whatever.” 

The agitation must be clear on his face. Keith’s hand comes up and touches his arm, slides up to rest just at the curve of his shoulder. It’s a comforting touch, soothing, even though Keith looks amused. 

“You’re here now,” Keith says, eyes warm. 

Shiro leans forward towards Keith, into his space, and then hesitates. Everything is still so new, so tentative. It takes him a moment, sometimes, to remember that he’s allowed to lean down to kiss Keith, that Keith tipping his chin up and smiling at him is _invitation_ , not just friendliness. 

Keith smiles. Shiro bends to meet him and kisses him, short and sweet, and feels Keith’s little hum of breath against his mouth. It’s amazing. He wants to kiss him forever. The kiss is brief, though, more a greeting than a promise, and so after a moment Shiro pulls away. 

Shiro’s shoulders slump as their eyes meet. “I’m really sorry. We’ve definitely missed our reservation.” 

“It’s okay,” Keith tells him. He squeezes his arm. “We can reschedule, right?” 

Shiro shakes his head. “Our schedules are booked all this week and next. I checked.” 

He’d planned this out precisely for today— a first date with Keith. They’ve been so busy, Shiro especially, and this was the only time in their schedule that worked. And now he’s over an hour late to picking Keith up. He’s still in his uniform and his stomach feels caved in with hunger. 

Keith, though, looks handsome— because of course he does. He’s dressed casually, a loose-fitting shirt, a leather jacket, those tight jeans that hug his hips so nicely. He might have even tried to tame his hair back. The guilt squirms in Shiro’s chest even as he appreciates the sight. 

Keith frowns. “They’re working you too hard.” 

Shiro shakes his head, dismissive. It’s work he’s willing to do, but—

“They are,” Keith insists, a fire sparking in his eyes. Shiro wants to kiss him again.

He remembers a moment later that he’s allowed to. He leans down and slant’s his mouth to Keith’s. He cups his chin, his thumb pressed against the line of Keith’s jaw. He feels Keith sigh against his mouth and kiss him back with a low grumble that Shiro doesn’t quite catch. 

Today was supposed to be their first date. It’s only been about a week since they got together. Or, rather, since they fumbled their way through a confession and a sloppy handjob in Shiro’s quarters. Shiro does not count that as their first date, but perhaps if he’s being sentimental he knows with some lingering horror that the sloppy handjob marks their anniversary date forever. 

Not that Shiro wants to take back the sloppy handjob. Far from it. He’s always going to savor the way it felt to have Keith’s hand curled around him, panting against his mouth, gasping out, _You’re my goddamn boyfriend,_ like it was both revelation and command. Shiro never wants to get used to the feeling of being so overwhelmingly, desperately in love with Keith. 

“Let’s go to the restaurant. Just in case. Maybe they have an opening,” Keith tells him, patting his shoulder. “Or we can find somewhere else to eat. I bet you’re starving.” 

On cue, Shiro’s stomach grumbles. Shiro lets out an embarrassed laugh. Keith’s smile tilts up in the corner, smug and triumphant. 

“Knew it,” he says, his thumb brushing along Shiro’s bottom lip thoughtfully, studying him. Shiro feels himself blush beneath the scrutiny. 

It’s maybe a little stupid to feel so strangely shy around the guy who’s saved him a thousand times over, and more importantly has seen his dick and his face when he comes. But he does. He feels shy around Keith in a way he can’t quite explain, like he’s thirteen again, trying to navigate his first real crush on a boy, desperate to impress, desperate to seem cool and collected and fun. Desperate to get the guy he’s crushing on to like him back.

Well, at least he’s managed that much so far.

“Let me get changed out of this uniform and we can head out,” Shiro says. 

Keith’s eyes darken as they sweep over Shiro’s chest, one hand dropping to fiddle with the top button, undoing the collar for him. Shiro can guess what the look in his eye means, and normally he’d want nothing more than to indulge it, but he’s also hungry and he did have a date planned.

And Keith deserves the world. This date is already off to a bad start, he thinks. He has to make up for it. 

He does duck down and kiss Keith one last time, though, just a quick peck, and slides away from Keith’s seeking hands and soft mouth, hurrying back to his own quarters to get ready as quickly as possible. 

They haven’t been back on Earth long enough for Shiro to have too many possessions accumulated. He doesn’t have many civilian clothes, not since the Pilot Error and the cleaning out of his worldly means. He manages to scrounge up an old Henley shirt, though, but it’s tight across his chest. Maybe a little too tight. He frowns down at the strain of the buttons and undoes the top one to ease the tension on the fabric. 

He looks like a mess, he thinks, uncharitably, as he peers at himself in the mirror. He looks tired. His hair is limp, his eyes tired, and his shirt too small and straining over his shoulders. It could be worse. But it could be a lot better.

He sighs and pushes back, heading to the door to find Keith waiting. They head out. 

 

-

 

Sure enough, once they get to the restaurant, it’s a solid hour and a half after their reservation time. Shiro’s honestly surprised that they weren’t just laughed out of the restaurant by the hostess. Not even the perks of being recognizable Defenders of Earth is enough to actually get them a table, and Shiro’s not about to try to kick out some other patrons. 

Shiro feels his body tremble, a combination of frustration and low blood sugar. He stills, though, when he feels Keith’s hand slip into his. 

He turns towards him. He’s beautiful, Shiro thinks, but he’s always thought so. Keith smiles. “It’s okay. That place looked kind of stuffy. Let’s go to one of the stalls in the marketplace. Quick food.” 

“Oh, sure,” Shiro agrees, frowning. Doing that would actually put them on track for the rest of the date Shiro had planned— dinner, some hoverbike racing to watch the sunset and stars, a midnight showing of a movie. It was supposed to be perfect. But grabbing some milkshakes or street food seems as good a choice as any and would leave them plenty of time to get to the hoverbikes and race out into the desert. It’s midsummer, and the sun’s still hovering high enough in the sky to give them time, not even dipped down low enough to kiss the distant mountains. 

Keith leads the way, tugging once on Shiro’s hand. That makes Shiro feel all squirmy, his stomach flipping in his gut. It’s a nice feeling. He looks at their hands, the easy way Keith laces their fingers together. 

Shiro thinks to himself that it might not be so bad to tug Keith aside, tuck him into a dark corner on the street, and press a series of short kisses to the line of his jaw, the curve of his smiling mouth. He’s just about to do it when he hears a voice behind them.

“Oh, hey guys!” 

Both Shiro and Keith pause and turn. And there’s Hunk waving at them with a wide smile. Pidge and Lance are in the background, faces pressed to a window display of a knock-off Voltron cartoon that got greenlit a few months back. Shiro still hasn’t watched it— hasn’t had the time. Pidge swears by its hilarity. Keith says it’s garbage. 

“Hey, Hunk,” Shiro says with a small smile. He’s not thrilled about being interrupted, but these are their friends. He’s so hungry, though. 

“I’m glad I caught you,” Hunk says, beaming. “I wanted to talk to you both about setting up our next Monsters & Mana session. I was thinking about what Coran said last time about the nebuleon cluster crystals and their mysterious effect and—”

Normally, Shiro would love nothing more than to talk shop with Hunk about Monsters & Mana. It’s one of his favorite things to talk about. It’s a fun game, after all. And more than that, it’s a productive game— helps strengthen the team, helps focus the mind. It’s the only way that Shiro can get away with adding it to his work schedule, blocking off four hours every Saturday night to sit down with his friends and just hang out. Otherwise, he’s sure the higher brass would love nothing more than to book him up at that time for additional pilot training or Atlas transformation practice. Sometimes, depending on how busy his week is, it’s the first time he can hang out with all his friends— his family— in one sitting. Those are always the worst weeks when he goes so long without all of them. 

He’s lost track of what Hunk’s talking about, though. He glances at Keith. Keith’s watching Hunk passively, frowning. He plays the game, too, but Shiro suspects it’s more to spend time with everyone than any genuine desire to play the game— make believe has never been one of Keith’s interests, after all. But he tolerates it, mostly, Shiro suspects, for his own sake. 

Keith catches his eye and frowns. He studies Shiro’s face for a moment and then turns. 

“Hunk,” Keith says, voice abrupt and cutting into Hunk’s ramble. “No offense, man, but Shiro and I are kinda busy right now.” 

Hunk pauses. And he doesn’t look hurt, at least, but more perplexed at both Keith interrupting him and Shiro not springing to enthusiastically discuss wizard-paladin combo fighting tactics. 

“Oh,” Hunk says, his eyes dropping down to where Keith’s holding Shiro’s hand. Understanding dawns. “Oooooooh. Sorry. Are you two on a date?” 

“Yes,” Keith says, without hesitation, and Shiro’s heart does a little kickflip in his chest. He absolutely does not give Keith a moony smile and Keith certainly doesn’t return it. 

“What are Keith and Shiro doing?” Lance asks, finally joining the conversation as he and Pidge walk up. He slings an arm around Hunk’s shoulder and just hangs there, peering at them both. He squints at Shiro’s too-tight shirt and Keith with his semi-brushed hair. “You hanging out with us? We were heading to the arcade.” 

“Nah, they’re on a date,” Hunk tells Lance. 

Pidge squints at them. “That explains why Keith’s trying to tame his hair.”

Keith’s hand lifts to tuck a piece of unruly hair back behind his ear, self-consciously. Shiro thinks Keith looks handsome and amazing. He almost says so but then Hunk asks, “So what are you guys doing tonight, then?” 

Shiro chooses to ignore Lance’s knowing elbow dig into Hunk’s side and waggling eyebrows he points in Keith’s direction. He also chooses to ignore (for now) the way Keith’s cheeks flush in response to the eyebrow waggle. 

But Shiro despairs. The planned itinerary is already totally shot and they’re quickly falling off schedule again. A quiet dinner is a bust, and time is ticking away. If they don’t hurry to get food, they’ll miss the sunset. He and Keith are more than capable of driving out and back in with the darkness, but Shiro’s always privately thought of sunsets as important, and especially important between him and Keith. He wants the moment to be special. At this rate, they’ll be lucky to even see the moonrise. 

“We’re going racing,” Shiro says. Keith looks up at him, surprised and then pleased, his mouth tilting up into a smile. Shiro feels warm and shivery all over, and not just because of the low blood sugar. 

Pidge’s eyebrows lift to her hairline. “Tonight? It’s supposed to rain. Didn’t you hear the flashflood warning?”

Both Keith and Shiro look up at the sky. The early evening is clear, not a cloud in sight. 

“We’ll be fine,” Keith tells Pidge with a shrug. He squeezes Shiro’s hand. “Shiro and I are good at racing.” 

“Whatever. Go. Get out of here. Stop talking to us,” Hunk says with a wave of his hand. “Have fun.”

“And don’t drown,” Pidge mutters with a roll of her eyes. 

 

-

 

Fifteen minutes later, Shiro and Keith find a food stall with street food. Keith gets some sort of alien dish, something like a questionable kebab, and Shiro wolfs down the alien equivalent of a burrito, ravenous with hunger that he nearly goes back for three more after his first two. 

It’s a testament to how much Keith must like him that even with his breath smelling like alien cilantro and whatever mystery meat, he still leans up and kisses the corner of Shiro’s mouth once he’s finished swallowing down his food in approximately three bites. 

“Feeling better?” Keith asks, smiling as he lingers close. “You were kinda shaky for a while there.” 

“This is helping,” Shiro says. He smiles. “But you could kiss me again. Just to make sure.”

Keith laughs and does just that. He licks into Shiro’s mouth and Shiro sighs, kissing him back, tasting the spices of Keith’s weird kebab. He bites down on Keith’s bottom lip, nipping and nibbling, just because he knows it’ll make Keith giggle. 

_I love you,_ Shiro wants to mouth against Keith’s lips, wants to lay worship to him in all the ways that Keith deserves.

Someone elbows hard into Shiro’s back, knocking him so off balance that he nearly bites down too hard on Keith’s tongue and headbutts him for good measure. Instead, he just stumbles, grabbing instinctively at Keith’s hips to keep him upright, too, as they tumble out of the way of food stall’s growing line. 

“Hey!” Keith shouts after the person who’d elbowed Shiro out of the way. “Fuck off!” 

The guy doesn’t respond and Shiro curls his hand around Keith’s wrist as he reaches for his knife. He thinks Keith is ferocious and amazing and brilliant, but he also doesn’t want Keith to be dual-wielding his Blade and a kebab at once. 

“I’m fine, Keith. I was in the way.” 

Keith glares after the guy as he places his order. His expression softens immediately once he looks up at Shiro again and kisses his cheek in apology. It’s much sweeter than watching Keith eviscerate a random bystander. 

“You’re never in the way,” Keith tells him, which is so stupid and sappy considering the situation that Shiro can’t help but laugh, eyes softening as he looks at him. A thought, one that’s been niggling at the back of his mind, settles over him. 

He’s been thinking about it a lot. He’s been wanting to say it aloud. Ever since he and Keith made their plans to go on a date this evening, Shiro’s been thinking this is his chance to introduce it, to test it out. He swallows. 

“I—” Shiro begins, feeling his stomach squirm, anxiety and giddiness. “You’re really sweet.” He tests the word, quietly, as he presses his mouth to Keith’s, “You’re so sweet, baby.” 

Keith rears back to look at him, eyes wide and entire face turning pink. “Wh—”

“Too weird?” Shiro guesses, feeling his face turn red to match Keith’s. 

Keith shakes his head, though. “No— No. It’s— no. Okay. It’s okay.” He swallows, face bright red. His voice is hopeful when he asks, “Call me that again?”

Shiro grins, triumphant and dizzy with relief. He says, soft and moony, “Baby.” 

“Geez,” Keith whispers, blushing. But he’s smiling. 

And then Shiro’s communicator starts ringing. They both freeze, halfway towards leaning into one another. Shiro suppresses the groan that rises up in his throat. It’s after hours. He doesn’t need to answer it. But if it’s important—

Shiro’s phone chirps. 

“Fine,” Shiro sighs, tugging it out of his pocket and staring at the display. He gives Keith an apologetic look. “It’s Iverson. I should… probably take this.”

“Sure,” Keith says, and Shiro can’t read his tone at all. Keith frowns at the communicator and then looks up at Shiro. 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says, miserable. 

Keith’s expression gentles and he steps closer, skimming his fingers along Shiro’s jaw. “It’s okay. Really, Shiro. But don’t let him rope you into doing anymore work tonight.” 

Shiro nods a little, sympathetic on Keith’s behalf. This night hasn’t gone the way he expected it at all. He’s left Keith waiting. He looks like a mess. They keep getting interrupted. Shiro turns and answers the communicator with a small sigh, leaving Keith to his kebab. 

 

-

 

It takes twenty minutes for Shiro to get off the phone with Iverson. It was all important, not life-threatening but important, and Iverson’s the type to reiterate his earlier points several times over. It’s the teacher in Iverson, Shiro figures. Repetition is the key to learning. Repetition is not the key to speedy conversations, however.

By the time he gets back to Keith, he’s finished his kebab, pressed against a ramp up to the building the street cart’s parked in front of, arms crossed casually, leaning back and looking the casual, devastatingly handsome bad boy. 

If they leave now, they might just manage to get to their favorite spot out in the desert in time for the sunset. If they settle for a place closer to the base, then they’ll have time to stretch out and sit together. Maybe make out a little. 

“Sorry that took so long,” Shiro says as he approaches Keith. “You know Iverson. He likes the sound of his own voice.” 

Keith studies his face for a moment, his eyes tracing over every edge of him. Then, in response, he merely hooks his fingers in the stretched-open collar of Shiro’s shirt and tugs him down, kissing him gently. Shiro goes instantly breathless.

“Missed you,” Keith murmurs against his mouth once they part.

“Sorry,” Shiro says again. 

Keith hums and kisses him again and again, just a short series of pecks against his mouth. Shiro closes his eyes and melts into Keith’s touch. He’s never going to get enough of this. He never _wants_ to get enough of this. He could spend eternity just focusing on the feeling of Keith’s mouth against his. Keith’s hand skirts along his shoulder and squeezes, kneading a little at a knot of muscle there, then curls around the back of Shiro’s neck, hooking him down closer. 

“We have to hurry,” Shiro mumbles against Keith’s mouth. “The hoverbikes.”

“Hmmm,” Keith hums, not sounding that particularly concerned. He leans back anyway with a coy smile. “Lead the way.” 

The place they park their hoverbikes at the Garrison isn’t too far away. He and Keith have spent the last few months fixing them up— new upgrades, new parts, new efficiency. At least, whenever they have the free time to work them. They haven’t had a chance to take them out for a while now, so tonight seems the perfect opportunity.

They’re halfway there, holding hands, when Shiro hears the rumble of thunder in the distance. He and Keith look up again.

Keith huffs a breath. “Serves us right for not believing Pidge.”

The sky is roiling with clouds. Wind sweeps through the air, a meeting point of low and high pressures. Shiro should have known better. He’s a pilot. Long before space travel, he made his bread and butter on touch and go’s across the desert. A pilot lives and dies by his ability to discern changes in weather patterns. 

Shiro weighs the possibility of actually racing out into the desert. The checkpoints around the base and town will likely prevent travel when there’s a flashflood warning. Shiro can be reckless. Keith can be reckless. But they aren’t really so reckless as to expect they can outrun a rush of overflowing river. Racing into the canyons is out of the question. 

He studies the mountains in the distance. The sun is hugging the horizon now, racing against the clouds as they tumble towards the west. 

There’s no way they’re getting out there. Racing is out. So is sunset-watching and stargazing, certainly. 

Shiro makes a mournful sound as he turns back towards Keith. 

“It’s okay,” Keith says, and he sounds a little disappointed. Shiro knows how much Keith loves racing, too.

“You keep having to say that,” Shiro sighs. “I’m sorry.” 

“And you keep saying sorry,” Keith answers, easily. He squeezes Shiro’s hand. “Shiro. Seriously. It’s okay. You know what I look like when I’m unhappy. Am I right now?”

He isn’t. Shiro can tell that much. And he knows better than to delude himself into thinking that Keith is hiding it for Shiro’s sake— he isn’t that good of a liar and Keith doesn’t lie to him. Still, though, Shiro can’t pretend this night has gone the way he planned. Shiro should have done better. Should have made back up plans. Should have had something better planned out to make Keith happy, to give Keith the first date he deserves. 

He remembers Keith whispering against his mouth as they rocked together, that first night, a tumble of _I’ve loved you for so long_ and _Be my boyfriend_. He remembers also a small confession that Keith’d never actually been on a real date before, that Shiro was, in so many ways, so many of his firsts. 

A fat raindrop falls and splashes against Shiro’s nose. His nose wrinkles up in surprise. He hadn’t expected the rain to follow so quickly with the clouds. The thunder rumbles again in the distance. 

Keith does bristle this time. “Ugh. Of course.” 

“Obviously the one rain a year happens tonight,” Shiro agrees. 

Keith looks like a cat being forced into a bathtub, all jagged edges and terse lines, his jaw clenched. “Shiro. We have to get out of here.” 

Shiro huffs a breath. “You hate rain that much, huh?” 

“I’m half space cat, as it turns out,” Keith says. “I’m justified.” 

“Poor baby,” Shiro teases, just to watch Keith’s ears turn pink. They do and it’s adorable. 

Shiro can’t remember the last time he even saw an umbrella. And it’s a warm night in summer, so he isn’t wearing a jacket he can sling over Keith’s head to protect him from the oncoming onslaught. They start rushing, Shiro tugging on Keith’s hand, seeking out shelter. Running all the way to the movie theater to see an early showing of their movie is out of the question— they won’t make it in time to beat the downpour. 

“Come on,” Shiro says, tugging. “Hop on.” Keith looks confused and Shiro tugs him again, guides him up until he jumps piggy-backed onto Shiro’s back. Shiro smiles. “Get your jacket off and cover your head with it. I don’t know if we’re going to find shelter in time.”

“This is so stupid,” Keith mutters, but he sounds amused, not annoyed. He clings to Shiro, his legs wrapped around his waist, one arm hooked over his chest and the other holding his jacket aloft, lifted above and shielding both their heads. 

“Hold on tight.” 

Shiro starts running. Keith is light, even with his bulked-up size since his time on the space whale, and his hold is sure and firm against Shiro. If he let himself think about it, he’d easily get distracted by the feeling of Keith at his back, the feel of his legs flexing around his hips. He doesn’t focus on it. It starts raining in earnest and he _runs._

The rain pours around them and Keith clings to Shiro’s back, holding the jacket up over their heads. He’s laughing in his ear. It’s the most amazing sound in the world. 

 

-

 

They manage to duck their way into the hangar back at the base. It hugs the outskirts of the rebuilt Garrison and is the first major building outside the town. Shiro’s breathless by the time he gets there and even then, Keith doesn’t stop clinging to him, face tucked up against Shiro’s neck to avoid any wayward rainfall. This close to where the Atlas is housed, he feels her consciousness in his mind, a quiet, rumbling little tendril of thought, curious and inquisitive. He sends his own tendril of thought to assure her she can keep resting and she quiets in his mind. This close, Shiro wouldn’t be surprised if Keith can feel Black prodding him, too, the Lions tucked away inside the hangar. 

“All good?” Shiro asks.

“Mmm,” Keith hums against his neck. He can feel the curve of Keith’s smile as he nuzzles there. “Yeah.” 

Shiro shivers pleasantly, trying to work out the logistics of getting Keith off his back and pressed to his front instead. Maybe pinning him between his body and the outside wall of the hangar, kissing all the breath from Keith’s lungs. 

Keith must be thinking along the same lines because he whispers, quiet, into Shiro’s ear, “The things I want to do to you…” 

Shiro trembles, full-bodied, and he feels the curve of Keith’s smile at the shell of his ear. He feels the whisper of fangs against his neck as Keith bites and sucks a bruise against his skin. His heart is pounding, a flush rising up his neck and settling on his cheeks. 

“Keith,” he whispers. Then he remembers, delirious with joy, and murmurs, “Baby.” 

Keith hums, smiling against his neck. “Yeah.” 

“I think we’re going to miss the movie,” Shiro says, apologetic. Not unless they can find a free car in the hangar that has enough gas to truck them the mile or so to the movie theater.

“Fuck the movie,” Keith decides, eloquent as ever. That much makes sense, too— the rest of the night has been a disaster. There’s no sense in trying the third option when they’re currently zero for two. 

Keith stills his thoughts by cupping Shiro’s jaw and tilting his head. The angle is awkward but that doesn’t matter as Keith kisses him, teeth dragging over the swell of his lip. Shiro’s running through the logistics of either carrying Keith back to his quarters without interruption or the risk management of groping him out here in semi-public when he hears the door open near them. 

“There you are!” 

It’s a voice that sends ice water running through Shiro’s veins. He freezes immediately, his entire body going cold and rigid. His eyes are already closed from focusing on kissing Keith and now he clenches them shut tight in an effort to summon every molecule and atom of patience he might have left inside him. 

“I’ve been running the numbers,” Slav continues, either ignoring Keith all wrapped around Shiro like a limpet or their semi-compromising position, or not caring because it somehow fits into his calculations about a better reality. “You shouldn’t have left mid-conversation earlier. In all the realities where you leave mid-conversation and it starts raining, there’s a fourteen percent chance that we all perish!” 

“I really,” Shiro grits out, turning towards Slav, “don’t have time to listen to you right now.”

“That’s even worse!” Slav shouts. Shiro feels Keith uncoil himself from around Shiro and slide down his back, feet touching the ground. Shiro mourns his loss immediately. 

It isn’t Slav’s fault. Not really. Or maybe it is. Slav is, after all, the reason Shiro was late in the first place. All because he couldn’t shut up about nebula-thrusters and Olkarian technology’s incompatibility with Altean tech. And now here he is, interrupting him _again_. Keith’s hand is a steady weight at his spine, fingers splayed open to make his hand a little star. But even that can’t center him. 

“You have to come with me immediately!” Slav declares. “In eighty percent of the realities, when you don’t come with me, you—” 

“Slav,” Shiro grits out. “It’s after hours. Can’t you just—” 

He waves his hand. Because _fuck off_ isn’t professional, and despite his mounting annoyance, the tension rising in his shoulders as they inch closer and closer to his ears, he doesn’t want to start shouting at him. He grinds his teeth, stuck halfway between grimace and poster boy smile. 

This isn’t even Slav at his most annoying. Shiro’s gone through that enough times to know. But it’s after hours of frustration and stress, it’s after hours of wanting things to be _perfect_ because that’s what Keith deserves. And instead, it’s this. 

Keith just looks perplexed— lucky bastard hasn’t had to interact with Slav too much— but also a bit agitated over being interrupted. His knuckles knead into Shiro’s back, traveling the bumps of his spine. Trying to soothe him. Shiro can feel all the tension coiled up in his own body, knows it must be visible, especially to Keith. 

“And in thirty-seven percent of the realities—” 

“Slav,” Shiro snaps. “Just—” 

But Slav keeps talking, keeps interrupting, keeps waving his little arms in Shiro’s direction and Shiro doesn’t understand why it’s _him_ that Slav needs to talk to about this. He doesn’t understand why Iverson has to call him. He doesn’t understand why it has to rain, why he has to be late, why the restaurant has to be full, why the hoverbikes need to be so far away, why the street food they’d eaten roils in his stomach, why so much and so little is happening and Keith is an anchoring touch at his back but it’s not _enough_ , it’s not what Keith _deserves_ and—

Shiro grabs Keith by the hand and pulls. He glares at Slav, red-faced, and shouts, “Just fuck off, okay?” 

Slav’s little beak opens and then closes. Then he starts talking more rapidly, about numbers and percentages and realities and outcomes and devastating results and Shiro’s _not_ listening. He shoves past Slav and starts running into the hangar, pulling Keith with him. They have longer legs, even if Slav has more of them. They can escape if they really put their minds to it. 

He knows Slav isn’t chasing them, but still, he runs the near full length of the hangar, ducking around MFE fighter jets and service vehicles and whatever else. The Atlas looms towards the end of the hangar, the Lions parked nearby, but he ducks behind a storage container and huffs out a breath, slumping. 

“Shiro,” Keith says, sounding as out of breath as him. He doesn’t let go of Shiro’s hand. 

“What?” Shiro huffs, and it comes out almost like a snap, like he’s barking an order at Keith. He freezes up, his entire body lancing with tension. He looks at Keith, guilty. 

He can’t remember the last time he felt this agitated, this frustrated over something stupid. He remembers shouting at Lance, in the fuzzy memories that are his and not his, but that was different. He remembers shouting at Slav before, but those memories feel softened and distant with time, no matter how much Slav might test his patience now, in the ever-biting present. 

He can’t remember the last time he snapped at Keith, really. He sags, shoulders slumping. He mumbles, devastated, “I’m sorry.” 

The hangar is empty and quiet and dimly lit, everyone tucked away for the passing storm and for the night. Shiro heaves in deep, gulping breaths. 

Keith studies his face for a moment and then sways easily into his space, hands lifting to hook at the back of his neck and drag him down. His kiss is sweet, just a breath and a slide of their mouths together, but it sends sparks tumbling down Shiro’s spine. He makes a pathetic sound and Keith presses closer, soothing and slow, pulling each little breath from Shiro’s throat. 

Keith looks at him again once they pull back, and this time he’s the one who looks apologetic. He strokes his thumb along Shiro’s collarbone, where his hand rests against his chest. Keith says, like an inevitability, “You haven’t had any fun tonight.”

“That’s not true!” Shiro protests before he can fully process the words. “You’re the one who hasn’t had fun,” Shiro presses. “You’re… I keep messing this all up.” 

Keith gives him an odd look. “Shiro. I’m having fun. I’m with you.”

“This date hasn’t gone any of the ways it was supposed to,” Shiro sighs. He rubs a hand over his face, slumping further. He slides down the back of the storage container and ends up sitting on the floor, his knees tucked up. He parts his legs a bit when Keith sinks down with him, sitting in front of him with his legs crossed. Shiro gives him a pathetic look. “I’m sorry, Keith.”

“You don’t need to keep saying that,” Keith tells him, and maybe there’s a hint of annoyance, finally, in his tone. It makes Shiro want to shrivel up.

“Tonight was supposed to be perfect,” Shiro mumbles. He looks at him, helpless. “It’s your first time going on a date.” 

“Is _that_ what you’re so worried about?” Keith asks, exasperated. “Shiro. God. I don’t give a damn about anything like that.” 

“But—”

“We could do literally nothing and I’d be happy because I was with you,” Keith says, like it’s easy and Shiro knows it’s anything but, knows how far Keith’s come in order to be able to offer these words to Shiro. 

But Shiro is stubborn. He insists, “You deserve the perfect date.” 

“And you deserve to spend an evening where you’re not trying to map out and strategize everything,” Keith presses, insistent in his own way. “I just want you to relax. I want you to just be yourself. That’s all I need from you, Shiro. Just be with me.” 

Shiro doesn’t know how to process that. He stares at Keith, blinking a few times in quick succession. 

Keith sighs. “I don’t _need_ perfect. I just need you.” Keith blushes, looking down. “And you’re perfect to me, so. You know.” 

“We missed dinner,” Shiro mumbles.

Keith shrugs. “I like street food.” 

Shiro frowns. “We couldn’t go racing.”

“We can go racing another time. There’ll be other sunsets,” Keith tells him. 

“It started raining.”

“You carried me.” Keith’s mouth toys with a smile. “It was kinda hot.” 

“We… we missed our movie,” Shiro says.

Keith shrugs. “I’d have spent the whole time just making out with you in the back row, anyway. Who cares?” 

Shiro can’t help the laugh, disbelieving and light. He blushes and Keith smiles, warm and full. He shifts and crawls closer to Shiro. He’s so close. Shiro can feel the heat of his body rolling off him in waves. Keith leans in, pressing his hands to the container behind Shiro’s back and leans into his space, caging him in. Shiro parts his legs to accommodate him in his space. 

They look at each other for a long moment. Keith’s eyes turn dark, lids falling to half-closed as he studies Shiro. It’s a look that’s both promising and compromising, hot and molten but also unbearably soft, fond and endearing as he looks at him. 

“You wanted me to be happy,” Keith says. “I get that. I know you were trying.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro says, gut squirming. 

“The reality is… I just. You know. I’m easy to please.” Keith shrugs. “I spent all this time thinking you’d never feel this way about me. I just— want to be with you, you know?” 

“I know,” Shiro whispers. “I want that, too. Keith… I just want it all to be so good for you.” 

Shiro’s communicator takes that moment to chirp in his pocket with an incoming message. They both freeze up. Shiro doesn’t move, doesn’t dare reach for it— especially when Keith’s eyes darken, his expression murderous. 

It’s in that moment that Shiro realizes all the moments he thought Keith was frustrated with him, it was really frustration at the rest of the world. Of course. Shiro never should have doubted Keith’s protective streak. 

“They’re working you too hard,” Keith whispers, touching Shiro’s cheek, thumbing over the heavy bag under his eye. He frowns. “You’re allowed to have fun, Shiro. You’re allowed to relax. You’re not— you don’t always have to be the responsible one.”

“I have fun,” Shiro protests. 

“You tried to plan everything about this date,” Keith says. “Your schedule’s packed. I’ve seen it. You don’t even get a chance to breathe. I’ve barely seen you this entire week.”

Shiro wilts. “I didn’t— I…” 

“It’s alright,” Keith whispers. He cups Shiro’s other cheek, holding his face gently. He smiles. “Shiro. I want to spend all my time with you. I know I have to share you with the universe, but… it’s okay if you take time for yourself, too.” 

“I want to spend every moment I can with you, too,” Shiro confesses, quickly, not even pausing to fear that he’s being overeager. “Keith,” he murmurs, helpless. “I just want to be with you.” 

Keith blushes, his eyelashes dipping as he smiles to himself. His thumbs fan across Shiro’s cheeks and then hold steady. Keith leans in and kisses him and Shiro’s helpless, can do nothing but fall into Keith’s orbit and kiss him back. 

“Me too.” Keith studies him for a moment and then tilts his head as a though occurs to him, glittering in his eyes. “So, tell me, Shiro. What would happen if you just… turned your messenger off? Just threw it on the ground right here. What would happen if you just… came with me?”

“For the rest of the night?” Shiro asks.

“Who knows how long,” Keith answers, cryptic. 

“I— I don’t know,” Shiro confesses. He looks around the empty hangar. “I… God. I just want to have fun. I just want to be with you.” 

“So let’s do it.” 

“That easy?” Shiro asks, smiling. 

Keith’s smile is almost a smirk when he mimics Shiro in a low murmur: “That easy.” 

Shiro looks at him for a moment and then laughs. “What are you planning, baby?”

“I’m not planning anything,” Keith says. “That’s the point.” He reaches forward and plucks Shiro’s communicator from his pocket. He holds it up, waiting just enough for Shiro to voice a protest. 

Shiro almost does. He thinks of the consequences of abandoning his communicator. For staying out all night with Keith, or longer, without telling anyone where he is, shirking off his responsibilities. Iverson’s shouted at him for far less, back in his cadet days. He could protest. Keith would hand it back to him and would understand, his anger directed at the world, not Shiro.

But he swallows all of it down, more curious to see what Keith will do than fearing any repercussions. He nods. 

Keith grins, triumphant and thrilled, and twists. He rears back and hurls the communicator away from them. It soars through the air, arcing, and then smashes hard against the ground, all the pieces streaming across the hangar’s floor in a fan. 

Shiro looks at the wreckage for a moment and feels no regret. He turns back towards Keith, eyebrows arching. 

“Well. What now?” 

Keith grins at him and shifts back. He stands, and reaches for Shiro’s hand, hauling him to his feet. He doesn’t let go. 

“Come on.” 

A second later, Keith’s dragging them towards the Black Lion, who rouses as Keith approaches, feeling their bond, and lets out a sound that’s almost a welcoming roar, her jaw opening. Shiro hadn’t realized that interspace travel was what Keith had in mind. 

“Wh— Keith! Where are we even going?”

“We’ll figure it out when we get there. Not everything has to be planned,” Keith says, and it’s as easy as that. His eyes sparkle as he turns to look up at Shiro, smiling wicked and slow. “Just trust me. Let’s go see the stars.” 

Shiro gapes at him, his entire heart twisting up and lodging in his throat. He’s overwhelmed, if only for a moment, by just how bright Keith shines— that smile, those eyes. Everything about him.

Keith tilts his head, jerking his chin towards Black. “You coming with me or not?” 

And Shiro thinks, helpless and in love, that of course he’ll follow Keith anywhere. He has no idea where they’re going but that doesn’t matter. He lets Keith take his hand and tug him aboard Black, lets Keith sail them across the universe. They tumble their way through the storm, but no sudden onslaught of rain is any match for Black. 

They launch upward. Keith laughs, gripping the controls as he urges Black forward, and he’s never looked as wild and gorgeous as he does in that moment, Shiro gripping the back of the pilot’s seat and grinning as the clouds part and they breach the atmosphere. He’ll follow Keith wherever he might go. Forever. 

They’re a shining comet hurtling upwards through the sky, reaching escape velocity. They’re going, going— and then they’re gone.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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